


Afterimage

by FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)



Series: Nyssa of Ralaferin [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, More like a medium scorch, NSFW, Not really slow burn, Oral Sex, Other, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-29 05:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17197586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana
Summary: A sequel to By Any Other Name. It's 9:42 and Nyssa is living at Skyhold and working for the Inquisition, when an overheard conversation brings back feelings she was reasonably certain she had left behind.This gets NSFW from Part IV.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [By Any Other Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13209825) by [FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana). 



> I suggest reading the prequel linked above for more background on how Nyssa and Fenris met.  
> Inquisitor Seldras Lavellan belongs to my good friend Shro. <3  
> You can find more about Nyssa on her blog - https://flowercrowndalish.tumblr.com

Hawke was both more and somehow  _ less  _ than Nyssa had imagined.

She of course knew who the Champion of Kirkwall was. Everyone did, especially after Varric’s tales of their exploits had sold hundreds of copies across the Free Marches. A copy had made its way into the Inquisition library, and she’d read it over a few days. The way Varric wrote, Kirkwall was a city of intrigue and exhilarating danger, where blood mages lurked around every corner and the Carta made shady deals in every back alley in Lowtown. In reality Nyssa knew Kirkwall was an overcrowded shithole, and it had only been getting worse since the Chantry exploded. 

He was right about the Carta, though, and he insisted he was  _ mostly  _ right about Hawke. Even so it was odd to see such a well-known person doing something as mundane as having a pint in a tavern. Especially a grubby old place like the Herald’s Rest.

Cassandra laughed a little too loudly, and Nyssa tried to hide her grin behind her cup. She never considered Inquisitor Lavellan and the Seeker to have much in common, but here they both were hanging on to Hawke’s every word. They’d kept the woman talking almost non-stop since she’d arrived with Varric, and gradually Nyssa had faded into the background of their conversation...but that was alright. She was content to drink her wine, listen and take the measure of the Champion herself.

“I shit you not, Sprout,” Varric laughed, “it was a disaster.” He slapped his hand on the table for emphasis, then took a gulp from his cup before continuing. “We’re on the floor, ass over teakettle, and the elf looks down at us and says, ‘You got started without me.’”

“Nobody ever believed Fenris had a sense of humour,” Hawke said, as Seldras laughed. “But he did.”

_ Fenris. _

The name jumped out at Nyssa, drowning out the rest of the conversation.

“You know Fenris?” she asked without thinking, and four pairs of eyes turned towards her.

Hawke looked at her from under dark brows. Nyssa didn’t miss the split-second glance at Varric before she answered.

“I assume we’re talking about the same elf. Unless it’s a common name, like the elven equivalent of...I don’t know, Aedan or something.”

“It’s not an elven name,” Nyssa said. “It’s Tevinter. Was he tall? Brown skin, white hair? With markings on his flesh?”

Varric’s eyes widened in surprise, then he chuckled.

“Marigold!” he said, and put down his pint. “You  _ do _ know the elf.”

“They say it’s a small world,” Hawke replied, and shrugged. “I haven’t seen him since we left Kirkwall. That was five years ago now.”

A mixture of hope and wistfulness made Nyssa’s heart speed up a little. She remembered Fenris well; not merely from his unique appearance, but from the connection they made. However brief it had been, and however long it had been since...she still remembered, and thought of their days together fondly.

“I met him once, around four years ago,” she said by way of explanation. She gave a bare-bones recounting of their brief adventure, and although she left out the more intimate details, she could almost hear Varric’s ears pricking up.

The conversation didn’t stay on the topic of Fenris for much longer. Within ten minutes it was back to Corypheus and the dangers of red lyrium. With her wine finished Nyssa excused herself and practically fled from the tavern, where the orange glow faded into blue-black, and the smoky haze into cool night air. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.

“Fenris meant something to you, huh?” said Varric from behind her.

Nyssa turned around and regarded him with an exasperated glare.

“Nosy dwarf,” she said, and he laughed. “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

“Aww, don’t look at me like that, Marigold.”

“How am I supposed to look?” Nyssa replied irritably. “I don’t want this getting around Skyhold. I already get enough mockery as it is.”

“They’re just curious about you, Marigold.” He patted her arm, an uncharacteristic show of affection. “You know you can be a little...uh…”

Nyssa snorted. “Prickly?”

“Exactly. You know what humans are like. They want to know they can relate. So,” he said, and smirked. “Was it a whirlwind romance?”

Nyssa relented. “It was only a few days. He was in trouble from a group of slavers on the road to Ostwick. His ability, with his hands, it wasn’t working like it should. He let me…” she paused. “Renew is the best word, I suppose. Renew the magic.”

“And he  _ let  _ you?”

“He took some convincing.”

There was more to it than that, of course, but there was a limit to her comfort with sharing. Varric knew that; by his expression he was dying to probe her for more information. If she spilled it would end up in his next novel, no doubt...but if she didn’t, he would probably write to Fenris and get the truth from him.

Then a sudden, brilliant idea came to her.

“Varric.”

“Marigold.”

“If you know how to reach Fenris…”

Varric smirked.

“I knew you would ask,” he said. “I lost touch since the Seeker hauled me up to the Conclave. But,” he added, at her sigh of disappointment, “I happen to know someone who might.”

* * *

 

“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” Varric asked.

Nyssa stopped suddenly enough that a disgruntled maid nearly ran into her from behind.

“Really?” she said. “You’re choosing  _ this  _ moment to ask that?”

“As your friend, I have to ask. Fenris...well, he has issues. A lot of issues, with magic, and with mages. You should have heard him and Blondie argue.” 

‘Blondie’ was Varric’s nickname for the mage Anders, Nyssa remembered.

“It’s not as if I haven’t considered it,” she replied, chewing on her lip. And she  _ had  _ considered it, in the days that followed their first conversation. She’d considered it so much it disturbed her sleep and distracted her thoughts, until she’d nearly fed someone a poultice in the healing tent just yesterday.

“Look,” she said, and stepped up to the tavern door. “He’s not a wild animal. He has had a difficult life, and perhaps he acted badly before I knew him. I can’t hold him accountable for every mistake he’s ever made, unless I want to do the same for myself. Now are we going to meet this contact of yours, or not?”

Varric smirked. “You’ll be fine, Marigold.” He pushed open the door.

Nyssa spotted the ‘contact’ as soon as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. There, at the back of the room, in one of the booths. A human woman relaxed against the wall, booted feet on the table. One hand held a clay mug; the other held a dagger in position with two fingers. The point of the weapon ground into the wooden table, spinning like a top.

“Isabela?” Nyssa said, glancing at Varric. She was familiar enough with Fenris and Varric’s descriptions of the woman. Who else but the Queen of the Eastern Seas could have a presence large enough to fill the near-empty tavern?

The woman straightened as Nyssa and Varric approached the table. She was dark-skinned, with curling black hair and shrewd brown eyes that looked Nyssa up and down baldly. The dim light flashed on the gold at her ears and neck.

“Varric,” Isabela said, her lips curling. “Who is this pretty thing?”

“Rivaini, meet Marigold.”

“Nyssa,” Nyssa said. “Clan Ralaferin.”

Isabela leaned forward until her breasts pressed on the table. Nyssa forced herself not to glance down.

“I’m here about Fenris,” Nyssa said.

“Oh.” Isabela sighed wistfully. “I miss that man. He had the most incredible a--”

Nyssa coughed.

“Armour,” Isabela finished, then smirked. “You thought I was going to say something dirty, didn’t you?”

Varric sat himself down and took a gulp from the woman’s clay mug.

“Andraste’s ass!” he said, grimacing. “What kind of piss are you drinking now?”

“I take what I can get around here.”

“Never mind. Look, Nyssa wants to get in touch with Fenris. I figure you’d be the best person to ask.”

“Last I heard he was wandering around the Free Marches killing every Tevinter with his  _ magical fisting powers, _ ” Isabela replied, rolling her eyes. “He sent me a letter a month ago and all he could talk about was how many slavers he killed.”

“Do you know where he is now?” Nyssa asked.

Isabela stopped spinning the dagger and flipped it with a practiced hand. She began to clean under her fingernails. A few seconds passed in silence.

Nyssa sat down directly across from her and leaned forward, mimicking the other woman’s pose. Isabela glanced down, then up, meeting her gaze.

“What do you want in return?”

Isabela smirked. 

“I like her,” she said to Varric, and held out her hand. “No charge. I owe Varric a favour, anyway.”

As soon as Nyssa placed the letter into Isabela’s hands she wanted to snatch it back. What reason had she to believe Fenris even remembered her? It had been a few days, four years ago. If she changed her mind she could take the letter back, burn it and keep her feelings to herself.

Nyssa’s hand twitched; Isabela raised an eyebrow, as if she knew what the other woman was thinking. Then she tucked the letter into her bodice and took another swig from her mug.

“Don’t worry your pretty head,” she purred. “I’ll make he gets it.”

 


	2. Part II

A month went by, then another. 

The anxiety began to fade in the first two weeks after Isabela took the letter. By week four disappointment took over.

“These things take time, Marigold,” Varric reassured her, and in theory Nyssa knew this. It was easier to convince herself she was less important than she believed, and that he had seen her letter and didn’t think it worth a response. Isabela had sent it, as promised, and warned her it would probably be at least a month before he received it.

A month to receive, and a month to reply. Nyssa counted the days in anticipation, but the anxiety became too much. By week six it had mostly faded though, and Nyssa got on with her work like nothing happened.

_ So that’s that, _ she told herself.  _ Now you can stop pining and move on _ .

She was in the healer’s tent soon after -- six weeks, two days and four hours to be precise, but who was counting. There weren’t many that needed her help as of late, not with half their soldiers and the Inquisitor on route to the Hissing Wastes. Usually the most work she had to do in those times was dress minor cuts or deliver babies.

“Mistress?”

Nyssa forced herself not to cringe at the gendered term, instead smiling at the dwarven boy perched on her spare cot. He was one of the construction workers’ sons. Grazed elbow from a tumble while running around the battlements. Nothing serious.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, and chucked him gently under the chin. “Keep that poultice on until morning, then you can throw it away. And no more running on the battlements. Healer’s orders.”

The boy grinned, showing a gap where his front teeth were missing. “Thanks, salroka.”

He jumped down and rushed past her in the heedless manner only a young child could possess. There was a quick scuffle behind her and a voice said, “Hey --watch it, boy.”

Nyssa glanced over her shoulder. The thick accent had already told her it was Blackwall, but she’d hoped it wasn’t. There was no specific reason to dislike the man, but something about him made her feel deeply uncomfortable -- and she’d survived this long by trusting her gut.

“Lady Nyssa,” Blackwall said.

Two seconds in and he was already irritating her. “Do you need something?”

“Varric’s looking for you. Said he wanted to get your opinion on …” the man paused, his brows furrowing. “I don’t recall what he said. Something about elves.” He shrugged at her raised eyebrows. “You’d best ask him what he wants. He’s out near the front gate.”

“Thank you,” Nyssa replied, and Blackwall nodded. After an awkward second he left the tent, and she began to wash her hands.

Why Varric wanted to bother her with  _ elven things _ , she had no idea. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t just ask Solas...Creators knew he had enough opinions for the two of them.

People shouted greetings as Nyssa stepped out into the sunshine and headed for the Great Hall. The doors were thrown open to let the light and fresh air in, and as always the hall was full of people. She moved through the hall with practiced ease, snagging an apple from a precariously balanced platter; one of many set out on the banquet tables. The hall doubled as a mess in the mornings and evenings, and during the day often served whatever dignitaries Ambassador Montilyet had invited to tour the fortress.

From the top of the stairs Nyssa had a decent view of the entrance to Skyhold. The gates were open and people were making their way inside. Refugees mostly, human and elven, carrying no more than a few possessions and bundles of blankets. Their pinched expressions eased as they filed through the gates, lifting their faces to the midday sunshine. Below she could see Commander Cullen giving instructions to his soldiers, who began to direct the new arrivals towards the makeshift tents. She spotted who she thought was Cassandra heading to the training grounds, sword in hand...but where was Varric?

And then she spotted him all of a sudden, standing to the left of the open gate...and the person he was talking to…

Nyssa saw a flash of white hair and her heart leapt into her mouth. She kept descending, though it felt like her legs moved of their own accord. The rest of her focused on the two figures by the gate.

It was Varric who spotted her first. At his wave the other figure looked up; their gazes met and  _ oh _ , he had the same eyes she remembered; green and expressive under dark brows. The lyrium markings stood out in contrast to his skin. He was browner than she remembered, though perhaps she had seen less of his flesh last time. He wore less armour, and his arms and torso were mostly bare.

“I heard you two know each other,” Varric said as Nyssa approached. He was grinning ear to ear, and she suddenly wanted to hug him. Or slap him, she wasn’t sure which.

“You could say that,” Fenris replied. His eyes never left hers; there was a moment’s pause when they simply looked at each other, noting the little changes. His hair was longer now, pushed back past his ears, and there was a lyrium mark on his forehead she’d never seen before.

“You changed your hair,” Nyssa said, slightly breathless, for she couldn’t think of anything more original to say in that moment.

Fenris smiled, and his expression softened. “You’ve hardly changed at all.”

That wasn’t true, not in many ways, but it was a topic that required a few more pints to recount.

“I received your letter.” Creators, that meant he  _ read _ it. “I thought I should see this place for myself.”

“Oh.” She tried not to show her disappointment. “Well, I’m sure Varric could give you the tour.”

“No can do, Marigold,” Varric said. He was already backing away. “Got a first draft to do --”

“But--”

But he was gone, blending into the crowd of refugees, and Nyssa let her hand drop.

She was going to  _ kill  _ that dwarf.

* * *

 

She took him up to the battlements, where the wind was strong enough to whip her hair into wild, black tendrils. They stood shoulder to shoulder and looked out over the crumbling stone rails, and Nyssa pointed out the garden and the healers’ tent; the courtyard and the Great Hall.

It was hard. Hard to focus on talking about Skyhold when Fenris’s bare arm brushed against hers, and hard not to be affected by his presence. After four years, feeling this way scared her a little.

Maybe Fenris noticed the quickening of her breath, for he turned towards her, his eyes full of feeling.

“Nyssa,” he said, and reached for her hand.

“Nyssa!”

It was the Iron Bull, swaggering along the battlements with his shirt off, and his bulging muscles and slight limp. She’d never been particularly pleased or displeased to see the Qunari man in her comings and goings in Skyhold, but at this moment she couldn’t think of a person she wanted to see less. Except maybe Solas.

“Nyssa,” Iron Bull said again, as he approached. “Hey, I need a favour.”

“What you need is a shirt,” Nyssa said, more tartly than she intended, and she felt Fenris’s eyes on her. “If you catch a cough, don’t expect me to cure you.”

The Iron Bull stopped, and his gaze flicked between both elves. “Okay...well, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

Varric wasn’t the only one who was good at picking up cues from body language; Iron Bull had been of the Ben-Hassrath and was singularly adept at gauging thoughts from mere twitches. Nyssa suddenly felt self-conscious.

“I should find Varric,” Fenris murmured in her ear. She felt the brush of his hand on the small of her back before he turned and walked away. Iron Bull watched him go, his expression inscrutable.

“Just say it,” Nyssa said, when Fenris was out of earshot.

“Say what?”

“Whatever joke you’re about to make at my expense.”

“Nah,” he said, but he wasn’t smiling. “So hey. Have you ever worked with  _ saar-qamek? _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saar-qamek - a deadly poison used by the Qunari to coat their weapons.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops, we're getting steamy now!

Nyssa didn’t see Fenris again for a few days following that short reunion, and for that she was secretly grateful. There was never a shortage of work at Skyhold, and between Iron Bull’s ‘favour’ -- a complex antidote -- there were babies to deliver, potions to make and the garden to plant. The work allowed her to occupy her mind with thoughts other than what to do with Fenris. After all, she hadn’t really expected him to actually show up.

If Felassan had been here he would have admonished her for failing to consider the consequences of her actions. Or perhaps he would laugh at the pickle she was in. You could never really tell with him.

There was also the possibility that Fenris really had just come to see Varric and Hawke...but he said he received her letter, didn’t he?

“You seem content.”

Nyssa looked up from her position, kneeling in the herb garden, and squinted at the shadow that fell over her. The sun made most of the figure dark, but there was no mistaking that white hair.

“Fenris?” she asked, squinting.

“Yes.”

Fenris stepped back and dropped to her level, one leg extended for balance. He didn’t have his sword with him for once, and in place of armour he wore a tunic and leggings. He smelled of soap, and his hair was wet. She was suddenly conscious of her disheveled clothes and dirty hands.

“This is a project a few weeks in the making,” Nyssa said by way of explanation, waving her hand at the planted seedlings. “Foraging takes time, and the more we have readily available for the healers, the better off we will be. When did you return?”

“An hour ago,” Fenris replied. “I apologize for my absence. It was longer than I expected. Do you have time to talk?”

Caught off guard by the question, Nyssa blinked. “No. I mean--yes, I do, but can you give me an hour?”   
“Of course.”

“Good,” she said shyly, and smiled at him. “Meet me at the stables.”

* * *

 

“Is that...a halla?”

Fenris met her in the stables an hour later as requested, catching her in the middle of a murmured sentence to the giant, horned animal in the stable.

“It’s a hart,” Nyssa said, and turned around. “I believe they shared a common ancestor, but halla look different.”

Fenris nodded. He was looking at her in a way she couldn’t really figure out, like he wanted to say something, or  _ do _ something, and Nyssa was suddenly tired of her childish faltering. She reached out to him, stretched up on tiptoes and kissed him, threading her fingers through his pale hair.

He murmured something against her lips, she didn’t know what, but all she cared about was that moment, and it was like he had never left. 

Fenris walked her backwards until her backside hit the stable door, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her into his body, and Nyssa forgot where they were. She forgot everything but the softness of his lips and the tingle of the lyrium brands against her skin--then there was a tug on her hair, and she broke the kiss abruptly.

“What--”

Nyssa gathered her curls and gently extricated some from the mouth of the hart, who had shuffled forward to lip at her hair. Fenris exhaled, a smile curling his lips.

“That was…” he trailed off. “Well, I wanted to talk.”

“Talk?” She smiled playfully. “You kiss me like that and now you want to talk?”

“For now, yes.” He gave her a look full of meaning, and Nyssa felt a little shiver go all the way down her body. If she let her imagination go where it wanted to go, she would need a bath again. A cold one this time.

There was a cough and a rustle and Master Dennet appeared from one of the stalls, carrying a bale of hay in tow.

“Er, don’t mind me, halla-rider,” he said. “Carry on.”

He left the stable at a hurried pace, and Nyssa couldn’t help laughing.

“Creators!” she groaned, when he’d left. “I forgot he was there.”

“Perhaps we should keep this conversation for later,” Fenris suggested. He was a little pink around the ears, though his lips twitched as if he were barely containing laughter. “When we will not be interrupted.”

Nyssa could think of a few places in Skyhold where one could go for privacy, but she’d lost the courage to proposition him at that point. Not with the horsemaster going back and forth.

“Meet me at the Herald’s Rest tonight,” she said.

“The tavern?” Fenris frowned. “But how is it--”

“Trust me,” Nyssa said. “I know what this place is like.”

* * *

 

She had been planning to take Fenris up to the top floor of the tavern or on the roof, where they could talk without prying eyes and ears. Those plans had been dashed when Isabela caught them outside and invited them in for diamondback. 

Nyssa accepted with a frustration she tried not to show. Was she ever going to have more than a few minutes alone with Fenris before he left? Evidently not, if Varric and Isabela -- no, that was an unfair thought, and she cast it aside. They had known Fenris far longer than she, and it was selfish to expect a monopoly on his time. It would be impolite to excuse herself and mope in her room, so Nyssa did what she always did: crushed down her feelings and joined the game along with Varric, Krem and Blackwall.

“Did Marigold tell you the time she played diamondback and lost to Solas?” Varric said, when they were dealing the cards.

Nyssa groaned.

“Come on, Marigold. It’s a fun story.”

Fenris shot her a glance. “Solas?”

“An elven mage assisting the Inquisition. I challenged him to a game of diamondback once, thinking he didn’t know the game. Turned out Blackwall had taught him, so he beat me. I lost everything.”

“By everything, she means  _ everything _ ,” Varric chuckled.

“Almost naked, if you can imagine.” Nyssa met Fenris’s gaze and saw he looked flustered. “I had to walk back to my room in my smallclothes.”

Hopefully he would think about that particular image for a while to come. By the looks of it, he already had.

An hour later and Nyssa had managed to lose whatever coin had been in her pockets at the time, along with her scarf and hair tie to Fenris, who had closely beat even Isabela with a few lucky hands. Evidently he wasn’t the sort of be distracted by thoughts of her in her smallclothes.

She wasn’t the only one: Krem had parted with a small dagger on his belt, and Blackwall was missing his shirt. Varric was still clothed, although one of his earrings had joined the pile of winnings.

“This is what I get for teaching you how to play,” Isabela grumbled, as Fenris collected the pile of silvers.

Fenris fished out a handful of coins and slid them across to her. “For the lessons, then.”

“Good,” Isabela said, and slapped her handful of coins on the table. “Deal me back in, sweet thing.”

“With the coin I won from you?”

“I  _ do  _ have a reputation to protect.”

Varric grinned at Nyssa. “Another round, Marigold?”

“With this one?” she replied, nudging Fenris. “I’d rather not part with my clothes just yet.”

Fenris turned his laugh into a cough, but still coloured all the way up to his ears.

_ Definitely  _ got that hint.

Varric cut the cards and shuffled deftly. Nyssa didn’t bother checking to see if he’d palmed any; cheating was normal and even expected for diamondback. She could have easily used her magic to manipulate the cards in her favour, but that kind of behaviour was unworthy of a game among friends.

Two more rounds and Krem and Blackwall bowed out after they lost the rest of their coin. By that time Nyssa sat close enough to Fenris for their thighs to touch under the table.

She had never exactly been the shy and retiring type when it came to sex, nor had trouble finding lovers, but this was different. It was always different when it was with someone you really cared about. Even just keeping her hand on his thigh took a lot of courage, and although Fenris did not shrug her hand off, her anxiety persisted. 

After another two rounds Isabela and Varric excused themselves as well; Isabela to seek her bed and Varric to write.

The bar was beginning to wind down with just a few workers left slumped at the bar with their mugs, and the bard had begun to pack away her lyre. Fenris and Nyssa sat alone in their corner with their half-finished mugs.

“Can I have my scarf back?” Nyssa asked sheepishly. “It was my brother’s.”

Fenris handed the bundle of cloth over, along with the leather tie that bound her hair. Nyssa put on the scarf gratefully and bound the great mass of her hair back from her face.

“I can give you coin,” she said. “It’s in my room.”

He shook his head. “There is no need. I have enough.”

Alright, so a subtle invitation didn’t work. Nyssa was beginning to wonder if he was trying to let her down gently, but that didn’t seem like him. If Fenris didn’t want to do something he had no qualms telling her so.

“What was it like?” she asked, after a few moments of comfortable silence. “Staying in Kirkwall for so long?”

Fenris considered, then replied. “Frightening.”

“Why?”

“Frightening to realise there exist people who are worthy of consideration and trust,” he added, and drained his cup. “In some ways it is easier to keep others at arms’ length.”

He was right, and she knew it. Wasn’t this what she had been doing all these years, after all? That thought was particularly sobering, and Nyssa let her hand slip off his thigh. She suddenly felt self-conscious, as if he’d brought some hidden part of her out into the light.

Fenris must have noticed the change in her mood, for he pushed away the cup and turned towards her. He raised one hand and slowly brushed a curl away from her face. 

“I--”

Both of them jumped as a thick fist rapped on their table. Cabot, the dwarven bartender, stood frowning at them as he began to gather their cups.

“Bar’s closing,” he said gruffly. “Come on, go canoodle elsewhere.”

That did it. 

Nyssa pulled Fenris by the hand out into the chill, unresisting. Warmth at her back, then cold as she pushed him into the wall.

She had to stretch on tiptoes to reach his mouth, but negated it by leaning against him heavily. He murmured something that was lost in a groan when she pushed her tongue into his mouth.

Then just as suddenly she pulled back.

“Nyssa, what --”

“You can’t touch me like that,” Nyssa said in a breathless whisper. Her hands framed his face, digging into his scalp, her forehead pressed against his. “Not unless you’re going to bed me already.”

Green eyes opened wide. A multitude of expressions flitted across Fenris’s face: surprise, pleasure, hunger. Nyssa pulled him into another kiss.

“Did you not see this coming?” she whispered as they broke apart again. “Did you think you could come here -- looking like  _ that  _ \-- with your voice and all of  _ this  _ \-- kissing me in the stables -- and not think this was where it lead?”

Fenris could hardly speak for chuckling; Nyssa punctuated her words with quick, soft kisses to his lips and chin.

His fingers dug into her hips, almost enough to hurt. “Where is your room?”

“Come with me,” Nyssa said.

This would be  _ excellent _ .   
  



	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW. If you don't like smut, particularly M/F smut, best skip this chapter.

Nyssa barely remembered leading Fenris back to her room. 

Her usual route was practically instinct after months at Skyhold, leaving her ample imagination to plan what she was going to do to Fenris when she got him into her bed. Or on it, or near it, or however it happened. As long as  _ something  _ happened, and they weren’t interrupted again.

She unlocked the door with a hasty spell and pulled him into the room. Fenris didn’t seem bothered by the braziers flaring to life as they crossed the threshold. He kicked the door shut behind him and twisted out of her grip, and next thing she knew he pulled her back towards him and caught her in a rough kiss.

Up until that moment Nyssa thought she would be the one to press. Then she realised, as he fumbled at her belt, that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Their kiss turned heated and intimate. Fenris ground his hips against hers sharply, and Nyssa felt one of his hands plucking at her leggings.

“What are you doing?”

“Tunic,” he grunted, and his lips moved to her cheek. “Take it off.”

“Yes,  _ ser _ ,” she replied jokingly, and reached for the clasp at her neck. “I didn’t realise you were so commanding.”

Fenris tugged on her earlobe with his teeth, making her gasp.

“You’re not the only one who wanted this,” he said, low and dark. His tongue licked the shell of her ear.

She was aching now, wet and excited by the teasing and the tongue on her sensitive ear, and by the glint in his eye she was sure Fenris knew it. He paused only to pull down her tunic and began to tug at her breastband.

Nyssa pushed him back abruptly. He stilled, eyes flicking up to search her face.

“This isn’t easy to get off for a reason,” she said by way of explanation, and began to undo the knot at her back. She let the linen drop to the floor and then, because she felt like getting a little revenge, let him look at her for a moment.

Fenris swallowed visibly; his teeth worried at his lower lip. Green eyes watched her trace one fingernail around a soft brown nipple. She could practically see the pulse pounding in his neck by this point.

“No more commands for me?” she asked, tilting her head.

“I--” Fenris stopped, then swallowed. “You are lovely.”

Nyssa laughed. “How am I supposed to tease when you say such sweet things?”

“I’m not trying to flatter,” Fenris said wryly. “I’m speaking the truth.”

She laughed again, a little self-consciously, and kicked her clothes aside. She flopped onto the bed, sighing as she sunk into the soft furs and blankets. 

She could do without everything in this room, but this bed? That she would miss.

The mattress dipped down suddenly and Nyssa opened her eyes to find Fenris kneeling at her feet, grinning. She raised her foot and walked it up his chest.

“Tunic,” she said, with a twinkle in her eye. “Take it off.”

He did, with shaking hands. He was a mess; flushed and sweaty and visibly hard, if the shape under his leggings was to be relied on. Then, crushing down the split second of self-consciousness, Nyssa wriggled out of her leggings. May as well just get naked already.

The sheets were cool against her back. Fenris pressed her into the bed, his body half covering hers, and he was so  _ warm _ , and softer than she imagined. How often had she wanted him here, in her bed, with his tongue and hands all over her?  _ That  _ fantasy made her tingle deliciously, and only intensified when she felt his hand threading through the dark curls between her thighs.

“You d-don’t want to just get to it?” Nyssa said, her breath hitching. His palm pressed flat against her mound.

“We have all night.” Fenris’s fingers teased and circled her swollen clit, blotting all coherent thoughts from her brain. “I know a few things you might enjoy.”

“I’m enjoying this already.”

His laugh made her tingle all over, or that could have been the thumb on her clit.

So many  _ sensations _ , everywhere at once. Alternating warmth and cool as Fenris teased her nipples to hardness with gentle teeth and tongue, the deep rumble of his voice as he slid two fingers into her. Nyssa squeezed her eyes shut, her hips moving of their own accord; her hands gripping Fenris’s hair. 

She was close. She could feel her orgasm coming, urged on by the fingers stroking the sensitive spot inside her -- how had he  _ known  _ to do that -- and the thumb rubbing her clit in small circles. Gentle, but not soft, just enough pressure to be consistent. The pleasure was relentless--she was making the most  _ obscene  _ sounds; breathy and high-pitched and utterly, embarrassingly out of her control, and she was--she was--

He pressed down on her clit and that was enough; she was coming  _ hard _ , those sounds turning into ragged gasps as her entire core throbbed and pulsed and shook.

Nyssa giggled breathlessly as she came down, half from embarrassment and half from relief. Soft chuckles told her Fenris enjoyed her reaction as much as she did.

“I really needed that,” she sighed into the silence, wiping at her sweaty forehead.

A soft, warm weight settled on her. Nyssa opened her eyes to see Fenris had settled astride her hips. He leaned down to kiss her breasts, her neck, her cheeks.

“I enjoyed making you come,” he murmured, making her shiver. “Could you do it again?”

“Wh--right  _ now? _ ”

He smirked, and then began to move back down the bed, planting kisses on her stomach and hips.

Creators have mercy, he was going to send her straight to the Fade.  _ Death by orgasm _ , Nyssa thought and giggled out loud, then Fenris tucked his hands under her legs and kissed the sensitive skin on her inner thigh, and she stopped laughing after that.

His tongue teased at her lips. Nyssa bucked, her thighs clamping down of their own accord.

“You taste so good,” he murmured against her skin.

She was so unbearably  _ sensitive _ , every muscle twitched and jumped at the hot tongue on her overstimulated flesh. It was almost too much. Nyssa writhed, panting and desperate, but Fenris was insistent.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” she sobbed as he sucked gently at her swollen clit, and that was enough to send her crashing over the edge again, wailing as every muscle in her body spasmed wildly.

Fenris eased her down gently, kissing the hollows of her inner thighs. Nyssa’s hips twitched weakly and she let her arms fall limply to her sides. She closed her eyes, breathing raggedly, and felt the bed creak and bounce as he got up. 

A few seconds later and the mattress dipped with his weight, and she opened her eyes. Cool water dripped onto her forehead, followed by the sensation of a moistened cloth. Fenris gently wiped the cloth over her hot forehead and cheeks.

She couldn’t say why, but that little gesture touched her more deeply than it should. Perhaps her expectations had been a little low.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “And remind me to thank Isabela.”

His laughter rumbled in his chest. He set the cloth aside and brushed the curls off her forehead.

Smiling, she rose up on her elbows and kissed him. She nipped at his bottom lip, eliciting a twitch and soft sound, and laved at the spot. That turned into a deep sigh when she reached down and traced the shape of his cock through the leggings.

“Take these off,” she whispered. “You’re not the only one who knows a few things.”

It was somewhat comforting to see he looked almost as self-conscious as she had felt. 

Fenris pulled at the laces on his leggings and tugged them down with some difficulty; he was terribly hard, and there was a wet spot on the fabric that she noted with interest. She had him sit on the edge of the bed, thighs spread to allow room for her to kneel.

Fenris watched her slack-jawed and heavy-eyed as she swirled her tongue around the head of his cock. She was a little rusty, truth be told, but perhaps he wouldn’t notice or care. If he wanted her to do something specific, he only had to ask--but for now, making him come was as good a goal as any. Feeling those lovely thighs surrounding her, that deep voice moaning--that was a bonus.

“ _ Kaffas _ ,” Fenris groaned as she took him into her mouth. She was being slow out of caution for her gag reflex, but it was probably akin to torture for a man so close to release.

Oh, well. That served him right for making her scream loud enough to wake up half the castle. 

His fingers wound tightly into her hair, and Nyssa paused with a wince. Fenris seemed to realise a second later and his grip softened. He mumbled a breathless apology, chased away by deep moans dragged out of his chest. The movement of his hips became more frantic as she worked him in a steady rhythm with her throat and lips and tongue.

“N-nyssa,” Fenris stuttered. “I-I’m-- _ ah _ \--I’m going to--”

She made a noise of assent and kept going. Then he tensed, hips canting, groaned deeply and came, spilling into her mouth.

Nyssa’s throat tightened and she swallowed, steadying herself on his thighs. His ragged breaths filled her ears. She groped blindly for the cloth and sat back on her heels to wipe away some of the sweat and seed she hadn’t managed to catch. Then on an impulse, she climbed into his lap.

They held each other quietly for a moment. Fenris pressed his lips to her neck, tracing patterns on her back with slow circles. Nyssa threaded her fingers through his hair and kissed his face softly; nose, forehead, cheeks, lips.

“Tired?” she said after a few minutes had passed.

Fenris pulled back to look at her face properly. He raised his eyebrows at her flushed face. “You’re not done?”

“Not by far. You think you’re the only one with good endurance, lethallen?” Nyssa leaned down to kiss his ear. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”


End file.
